


dark blue, dark blue

by witching



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Biting, Clubbing, Dirty Dancing, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Impromptu Makeover, Light Dom/sub, Light Petting, M/M, Making Out, Oral Sex, Strap-Ons, Strapping, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Trans Male Character, Two of them!, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-27 15:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17769395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: crowley employs his demonic wiles in order to get aziraphale to go to a night club with him.





	1. under the blue lights

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. i never want to see the words "thwart" or "wiles" ever again  
> 2\. work title is from a jack's mannequin song because i'm gay  
> 3\. chapter title from, and fic inspired by, [this ask](https://dykecrowley.tumblr.com/post/182608385743/for-the-made-up-fic-game-under-the-blue-lights) i got on tumblr

“Come on, angel, it’ll be fun.” Crowley draped himself over the back of Aziraphale’s chair, pressing in too close to the angel’s face. “It’s a Saturday night. It’s what people do.”

Aziraphale pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and rolled his eyes, turning to meet Crowley’s gaze. “I don’t like doing ‘what people do.’ I like doing what I do.”

“What is it that you do, exactly?”

“You know,” the angel said vaguely, “eat and drink and the like.” He paused, adding as an afterthought, “And angel things, thwarting and such.”

Crowley let a grin spread across his face. “That’s lucky, actually, because a club is the perfect place for thwarting.” He maneuvered himself clumsily into a less-than-comfortable position wedged between Aziraphale and the armrest of the chair, legs thrown across the angel’s lap. “I’m certainly going to be committing wiles, myself, and if you’re not there to thwart them, nobody will.”

“You could just as easily stay here and not commit any wiles,” the angel said, sounding bored. “That would solve the issue without either of us having to go anywhere.”

“But I want to go.”

“Then go.”

“But I don’t want to go alone.”

“Alright, then, don’t go.”

“ _Aziraphale_ ,” Crowley whined, drawing out each syllable in a flawless impression of a child begging his mother for a toy at the store. “They have booze,” he added brightly.

The angel sighed and removed his glasses, placing them in the breast pocket of his tweed jacket. “Fine,” he said, his voice light and airy. “I'll go with you. Just this once.”

Crowley punched the air in excitement, following Aziraphale when he stood and walked out of the room. Pulling up short, he half-shouted, “Wait, you can't wear that!”

“I can,” Aziraphale called over his shoulder, “and I will.”

Huffing out a breath, Crowley caught up with the angel just as he was walking out the door. He took in the outfit Aziraphale was wearing and shook his head, muttering, “Better than nothing, I suppose.”

* * *

“Is it always this _loud_?” Aziraphale leaned into Crowley’s side in order to be heard above the music.

“Yes, it is.”

“And hot?”

“Yes,” Crowley repeated, “although your outfit doesn’t help.” He smiled, pushing off of the wall to face the angel and give him the eighth pointed once-over of the night.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and moved past the comment. “Remind me again why I came here?”

“You’re here to thwart,” Crowley said, as if it were obvious.

“Thwart what?” Aziraphale gestured to the demon, the image of a man standing casually on the fringes of the club dance floor with his hands on his hips. “You’re not even doing anything, unless making me miserable counts.”

“Fine,” the demon replied with a shrug, “I’ll start ramping up the wiles.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Aziraphale said quickly.

“Let’s go, angel,” Crowley said. “You asked for it.”

The angel’s eyes went wide. “No, I didn’t,” he said, high-pitched and anxious. “Whatever it is, I did not ask for it.”

The next second, Crowley had a firm grasp on his hand and was leading him through the throng of people to the opposite wall. Aziraphale followed willingly, if only out of curiosity. The demon turned around to talk, finding his way across the large room without looking.

“You’re not having any fun because you’re not _participating_ in the culture,” he said.

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose shaking his head. “I’m not having any fun because this place is not fun,” he said. “Humans keep _touching_ me.”

“You’ve got to throw yourself into it,” Crowley urged. “Go native.”

Aziraphale scowled. “That sounds like the last thing I would like to do.” He blinked and then squinted as the room brightened around him, snapping into a blinding fluorescent white. Looking around, the angel realized the lighting had changed because Crowley had dragged him unwittingly into the men’s room while he was distracted by their conversation. He cocked an eyebrow at the demon.

Grabbing him by the shoulders, Crowley spun the angel around to face a full-length mirror on the wall. Aziraphale couldn’t help but think, in a moment of stillness, that they looked good together. Then the moment was over, because Crowley’s calculating eyes were taking stock of Aziraphale’s clothes again, and businesslike hands slipped under his lapels to slide the jacket off of his shoulders. Crowley discarded the jacket on the floor, which made Aziraphale gasp in horror.

“Hush, it’s fine,” Crowley muttered as he loosened Aziraphale’s tie. After undoing the top three buttons of the angel’s shirt, he lowered himself to his knees with purpose, rolled up Aziraphale’s pant legs three times, and rose to his feet again.

Having exercised great patience while the demon was using him as a dress-up doll, Aziraphale was now rather annoyed. He wrinkled his brow deeply enough to give himself a headache. “What are you doing?”

Crowley surveyed his work for a moment, then shook his head. He grabbed each of the angel’s wrists in turn and cuffed his sleeves, Aziraphale allowing it to happen all the while. The angel rolled his eyes and huffed out a sigh, which turned into a choked noise of surprise when Crowley grabbed his head with both hands and began to muss his hair vigorously.

“Ah, ah, _Crowley_!” Aziraphale made a weak attempt at ducking out of Crowley’s reach, but the demon let go of his own accord just a few seconds later, leaving a disheveled Aziraphale squinting at him in distaste. “Are you quite finished?”

Crowley beamed with pride. “Mhm. Now you won’t stick out so much,” he explained, “and it won’t be as hot.”

“I look ridiculous,” the angel grumbled, frowning at himself in the mirror.

“Shut up.” A fond smile spreading dopily across his face, Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s hand once again and began to drag him along.

The angel managed to nab his jacket from the floor and let himself follow. “Where are we going, now?” he asked as his eyes adjusted back to the dark blue light of the main club floor.

“Bar.” Crowley threw the word over his shoulder, hardly turning his head.

Aziraphale nodded. That was something, at least, although he had a nagging feeling this establishment didn’t serve a single decent wine. He knew he could change it to whatever he pleased, but the cheap wines always had a nasty aftertaste even when they had become a Châteauneuf-du-Pape.

When they reached the bar, Crowley shot a glance at a couple of 20-somethings who occupied the best seats for fast service, and they stood and scampered away. Aziraphale didn’t see the demon’s face, but he scoffed and shook his head.

“I didn’t scare them, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Crowley said as he sat in one of the chairs and directed the angel to the other. “Just made them think that it was quite a good idea to be anywhere else at that precise moment. They’re having a good time, trust me.”

“Alright, then,” Aziraphale said with a smile.

Crowley returned the smile for a moment before turning to flag down the bartender. “Get us… a Ramos Gin Fizz and a Rum Martinez, please,” he said. His voice was smooth and thick with mischief in a way that only Aziraphale could have recognized.

“What’s that about?” the angel asked.

“I’ll be drinking a ‘37 Glenfiddich,” Crowley said, “but I like to make them make the really difficult drinks anyway.” He glanced at the bartender with a smug grin. “All that extra effort in vain makes the Scotch so much richer.”

“Crowley, that’s _awful_ ,” Aziraphale whined.

“Is it?” Crowley raised an eyebrow and shook his head dismissively. “I tip well,” he added, a slow frown settling over his face.

They watched in silence as the bartender finished making the two complex drinks and brought them over. Aziraphale looked at his drink with distaste, scowled at Crowley, then looked back to the glass. Crowley presented the bartender with a thick stack of banknotes, which she stared at reverently, frozen in shock, until he leaned across the bar and put it in a pocket of her apron himself.

“Thank you,” Crowley said, craning his neck to see her nametag, “...Liza. That’s for you. Get along.” He watched, amused, as she ran to the back room to hyperventilate and possibly cry.

Aziraphale looked on in awe, smiling once more. “How much money was that?”

“It was enough, angel.” Crowley looked over at him. “Don’t get cocky. Pouting doesn’t count as thwarting. You didn’t do anything.”

“Does it help,” Aziraphale said, looking down at his drink, “being drunk? Does it help you deal with all this nonsense?” He gestured to the crowd of bodies, the bar, the building as a whole.

Crowley laughed. “About as much as it helps me deal with you,” he said.

“I see.” Aziraphale threw back his drink in one gulp, the glass refilling itself before he had set it down.

* * *

 It took about twenty minutes and seven drinks before Crowley was able to coax Aziraphale out onto the dance floor. Crowley responded to the angel’s insisting he couldn’t dance by reminding him that sometime before the Great War, he had gotten spiteful and told Crowley in no uncertain terms that he had rather enjoyed having a century’s break from the demon’s nonsense, that he’d taken up several hobbies, including dancing. Aziraphale’s face, already flushed with heat and alcohol, reddened further as he mumbled something about a gavotte and Crowley’s “insatiable smugness.”

Nevertheless, he found himself on the dance floor. At first, the dancing consisted of Aziraphale doing an awkward shuffle while Crowley did some sort of swaying near him; with the music pounding, blood pumping, and alcohol establishing a hold on the pair, their bodies gravitated toward each other and became somewhat entwined. In what could graciously be called some form of dance, they moved together.

“Wasn’t I supposed to be doing something?” Aziraphale asked breezily. Crowley shook his head, and the angel ignored him. “I’m supposed to be thwarting,” he said, as if remembering a dream.

“S’posed to be dancing,” Crowley slurred. “Jussst dancing.”

“How does that help with – with thwarting?”

“I believe,” the demon said, “I believe I’m tempting you, and your endeavors to thwart me have failed. Maybe you’re not a good thwarter. Should give it up altogether, if you ask me.”

“I _am_ a good thwarter.”

“Then why are you still dancing?”

Aziraphale hesitated, stopped moving to think on it for a moment. “Dancing is not a wile,” he said diplomatically. “Nothing here to thwart. Maybe you’re not good at wiling.”

Crowley looked down, saw his arms draped around the angel’s neck, saw the two of them standing in place in the middle of the dance floor. He laughed. “Is this a wile?” he murmured just loud enough for Aziraphale to hear, and kissed him, fast and chaotic, throwing the angel entirely off his rhythm.

“I think it might be,” Aziraphale said after a long moment of shock, “but…”

“But what?”

“I don’t think that thwarting it would be in anyone’s best interest.”

Crowley flashed a wolfish grin. “That’s what I thought,” he said, and he dove into another kiss, slower and deeper this time.

Aziraphale reciprocated the kiss in full and allowed his hands to wander, slipping under Crowley’s shirt. He pressed a palm firmly into the small of Crowley’s back, pulling him closer, feeling skin on sweat-slick skin. The demon smiled into the kiss, the kind of smile that Aziraphale just knew was infuriatingly self-satisfied, so he pulled back.

“You haven’t won anything,” the angel said.

“I don’t feel like I’m losing,” Crowley replied.

Aziraphale shook his head. “I didn’t know it could be so…” he glanced around at the tightly packed bodies, undulating like a can of worms.

Crowley followed his gaze, furrowing his brow. “Fun?”

“So _intimate_ ,” Aziraphale corrected, “with all these people here. Thought it would be gauche and exhibitionist. But they really don’t pay attention to anything, do they?”

“No. Nobody does, that’s the beauty of these types of places.” Crowley pursed his lips and did another slow visual sweep of the crowd. “I mean, _I_ pay attention.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said sagely. “You’ve got to make sure to ruin things and make people unhappy.”

“ _No_ ,” Crowley said, snapping his attention back to Aziraphale. “No, I do some thwarting of my own sometimes.”

“What sort of thwarting?” asked the angel, who was sure this was something he should have heard about before tonight. There was simply no way that Crowley went around in his free time doing angelic good deeds without Aziraphale noticing.

Crowley stared at the floor. “Just normal stuff, you know. Make sure girls get in cabs safe. Keep an eye on unattended drinks. That kind of stuff.”

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale said, practically glowing. “How noble of you.”

“M’not noble. Just figure if a guy’s gonna try something…well, it’s my _job_ to ruin lives, so might as well ruin his.”

Aziraphale beamed. “You’re a hero.”

“Am not,” Crowley whined.

The music got louder, quite abruptly, which is when Aziraphale realized that Crowley had been muffling it to their ears while they talked. He hardly had time to note internally that that was quite clever, because Crowley took the opportunity to start dancing again, giving himself up to the chaos of the music in order to avoid a conversation about his tender heart. He rested his arms lazily on the angel’s shoulders, moving his hips in a way that bordered on obscene.

Aziraphale started moving as well, naturally and without thinking. The mood had shifted completely with the music, which he supposed had been Crowley’s intent. He was too drunk to resist the atmosphere and the mesmerizing movements of the demon’s body. His hands found their way under Crowley’s shirt again, running over the soft curve of his spine, holding onto those hips as they moved.

“What is that scent?” the angel asked idly. He leaned in as he spoke, until they were close enough that Crowley could hear him, close enough that the demon felt his breath ghost across his neck and let a shiver roll down his spine.

“It’s, er,” Crowley swallowed and closed his eyes, trying to focus his words through the sensations of the angel’s hands on him. “It’s Black Opium,” he said finally, “eau de parfum.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale began mouthing at Crowley’s throat, placing hot, messy kisses in a line up to his jaw. “I like it,” he murmured, then took a deep inhale. Reaching up with one hand, he swiped a thumb across Crowley’s lower lip, smearing dark purple onto the demon’s chin. His tongue flicked out to taste the lipstick on his finger, a strong rosy aroma. “I like this, too,” he said.

Crowley cleared his throat. “That’s a Louboutin,” he said, casually as he could muster, “Eton Moi.”

Aziraphale, impatient, closed the small gap between them to kiss Crowley again. One hand wrapped around the back of Crowley’s neck to pull him in, the other still exploring the landscape of the demon’s back and stomach and chest. Crowley followed suit, holding Aziraphale’s face in both hands as he kissed the angel hungrily.

Aziraphale nipped at Crowley’s lower lip, eliciting a low groan, and moved to place both hands on his waist, stroking the soft skin there. Tightening his grip, he pulled Crowley in closer, closer, pressed up against him as solidly as possible. He reveled in the taste of Scotch on Crowley’s tongue, intermixed with the lingering florals of his cosmetics and the salt of his sweat.

Every nerve in his body on fire, lips tingling, skin hot, the demon pulled back to catch a breath. He dropped his hands from Aziraphale’s face to rest on the exposed bare skin of his chest. “You could,” Crowley said through heavy breaths, “you could fuck me right now.”

Aziraphale simply stared at the demon, his pupils blown wide, his mouth slightly agape. He had inexplicably lost track of every word in every language.

“I’d let you,” Crowley continued, his voice low and ragged. “I want you to.”

“You… oh,” Aziraphale said lamely.

Crowley licked his lips, unfazed by the angel’s response. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? I’m thinking about it. Thinking about the sssweat and the noisesss you would make and your -”

“Stop.” The angel’s voice was firm, but not unkind. His hands were still on Crowley’s waist, holding onto him so tightly that he was sure it would bruise. 

The demon didn't mind the vice-like grip, not so much, but his breath hitched at the tone Aziraphale took on. "Okay," he said quietly, "sssorry." His mind was too fuzzy with alcohol to recognize the alien nature of the circumstance; he only knew that he felt suddenly very ashamed of himself. Aziraphale had that effect on him, sometimes.

"I can't -" 

Crowley interrupted the angel, shaking his head. "No, I get it. I understand."

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. "Crowley -"

"You don't have to sssay anything, angel," the demon mumbled. He felt deflated, as if all the courage and the confidence had gone out of him. The lights and the drinks and the music had gotten to his head, he figured, and he had misread the situation, and made Aziraphale uncomfortable. He pulled away ever so slightly, putting distance between them enough to make eye contact, to have a conversation. 

Adopting a diplomatic tone, Aziraphale smiled softly. "You have raised an interesting point," he said, "but we can't do this." 

The demon nodded slowly, biting his lip. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Aziraphale interrupted him before he could take a breath.

"Crowley, shut up," he snapped. “I just mean…” his voice softened as he leaned in again, his lips grazing Crowley’s jaw as he spoke. "We can't do this here." He released his hold on the demon's waist, grabbed a fistful of his lapel instead, and began on a determined path to the exit.

“ _Oh_ ,” Crowley said breathlessly, and followed.

 

 


	2. a star of dazzling blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the part where they have sex. with a little bit of fun conversation before and after the sex.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from paul simon's "dazzling blue"  
> if at any point reading this you think to yourself "is that physically possible?" the answer is i did think about it and i decided either that it is very possible or that it doesn't matter.

The cool night air aided in clearing their minds somewhat, sobering them enough to be fully aware of the situation, and no less enthusiastic. They had driven to the club, but it was a nice night for a walk, and a short enough distance. A few blocks away, Crowley turned to Aziraphale, noted the angel’s calm and composure, and gave a flicker of a smile. The demon hadn’t consciously planned for this outing to become a seduction, but now he found himself thinking it may have been the best possible outcome.

“This isn’t a wile,” he began, “just so — I mean, I want this.”

Aziraphale furrowed his brow, looking at Crowley as if he had said the stupidest thing imaginable. “If you were trying to trick me,” he said meaningfully, “I wouldn’t have fallen for it.”

The demon closed his eyes and released a heavy sigh of relief. “You know,” he said, a hint of caution lingering in his tone, “going home with a bloke from the club is a _painfully_ human thing to do.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips and nodded his head. “I suppose it is,” he said with a shrug. “I seem to have gone native.”

Crowley let out a soft laugh, barely a breath, and reached into his pocket to pull out a small flask. He took a respectable swig before offering it to Aziraphale. The angel inspected it, sniffed the mouth of the bottle, and drank.

“S’vodka,” Crowley said, mostly so he would have something to say. “The cheap stuff. S’all the same, really, with vodka.”

Aziraphale hummed in agreement as he handed the flask back to Crowley, who screwed the cap shut but kept it in his hand rather than pocket it again. The demon had a lingering feeling that either of them being too sober would make the situation rather uncomfortable, at the same time as he was solidly sure that they both wanted this, truly, not only because of the intoxication. It was the fact of a long walk in the fresh air breaking up the night, a calm intermission between what had transpired at the club and what was about to transpire at Crowley’s flat, that made these moments pivotal, and ripe for awkwardness.

The upside of this, on the other hand, was that Crowley’s anxious overthinking kept him from actually saying anything to make it awkward. He took another long drink from the flask.

The remainder of the walk passed without incident, much to the relief of the demon and the angel both. It was easy, Crowley reminded himself, easy to be around Aziraphale, easy to be with him. When he dug through his pockets frantically looking for a key, the angel gave him a gentle shove on the arm and opened the door, which was unlocked simply because he wished it to be so.

Aziraphale stepped into the flat first, Crowley following close behind. He turned on a light, bathing them in a harsh white light that brought out the angles in Aziraphale’s face, sharpened his soft edges. The two stared at each other, unsure where to go from here.

Aziraphale was the first to break the spell, seemingly deciding that this was a _go big or go home_ type of situation, and realizing that one of them had to be the one to change the mood. Crowley had barely any time to take a breath, much less to question himself, before Aziraphale had grabbed both his wrists and pinned him up against the wall, pressing in close, forcing an embarrassing moan out of him. The angel chuckled gently as he leaned in to whisper in Crowley’s ear.

“You like that, yeah?” He nipped at Crowley’s earlobe, teeth and hot breath making the demon’s head swim, and then moved to suck a mark into the sensitive skin below his ear. Encouraged by Crowley’s heavy breathing and quickening pulse, he ran his tongue over the newly-forming bruise before pulling back to look him in the eyes. “Is this what you want?”

Crowley whined and nodded his head, hardly managing to get out an affirmative response. “Mhm,” he squeaked, squirming under the angel’s gaze.

Aziraphale smiled like a shark and pulled Crowley into a crushing, bruising kiss. When they separated after several long seconds, he looked at the demon expectantly and received a blank, almost hypnotized look in response.

“You live here,” the angel said helpfully, “in theory.” He glanced at their surroundings, taking in the room — a part of the flat he’d seen many times before, but not the part of the flat that interested him at the moment. “Lead the way,” he added, his voice heavy with meaning.

Crowley caught up eventually, grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and made his way to the bedroom. It was immaculate, as if everything from the carpet to the bedspread had been painstakingly carved out of expensive marble. Aziraphale’s eyes roamed over the bed, the floor, the walls. It was all very un-Crowley, he thought, to have such a clean space. Not that Crowley was a messy person, but he was a person, more or less, and the rest of his home showed it: potted plants on every surface, a coffee mug left on the counter, a coat rack with actual coats on it.

This room was all but bare, only a few pieces of furniture on white carpet. The demon padded across the room to a nightstand, reaching into the bottom drawer and pulling out a toy that made Aziraphale’s eyes light up instantly. It was pink, which made the angel smile for some reason.

Tossing the toy onto the bed haphazardly, Crowley turned back to Aziraphale, giving him a meaningful once-over. It was the eleventh or maybe the twelfth of the night, Crowley had lost count, but this look said _take your clothes off_ in an entirely different way. Aziraphale obliged, reaching to remove his belt, but Crowley quickly changed his mind and grabbed the angel’s wrist, pulling it away so he could do the work himself.

Crowley made quick work of Aziraphale’s belt and dropped it to the floor. Aziraphale responded in kind, and then their hands were both searching out each other’s buttons and zippers. Crowley pressed in close to kiss Aziraphale while he slipped the angel’s shirt from his shoulders. After a period of frenzied movement, kissing and grabbing and panting, tossing clothing on the floor, they separated.

It was not the first time they had seen each other’s naked bodies, not even the first time in these specific bodies, but context is everything. They stood and stared at each other, entranced, for a long moment. Crowley’s gaze fell on Aziraphale’s thighs, the curve of his hips, the soft flesh of his belly; Aziraphale found himself exploring Crowley’s barely-defined muscles, his smooth skin, his broad chest.

Eventually, their eyes met. Aziraphale pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side; Crowley closed his mouth, swallowed hard, nodded his head. It was an entire conversation without words, in the span of a few seconds, a solid reminder that although they were out of their depth here, they were still _them_.

Crowley moved without breaking eye contact, leaning over the bed to grab the toy he had abandoned there, and dropped to his knees in front of the angel without hesitation. Aziraphale’s hand instinctively gravitated to Crowley’s hair, stroking the area just behind his ear, while the demon worked the thin straps snugly into place.

Crowley couldn’t resist leaning in to press a kiss just below Aziraphale’s navel; he could have resisted the urge to move lower, but he didn’t want to. Hands gripping Aziraphale’s hips, he ducked under the toy and worked around the straps to tongue tentatively at the angel’s sex. Aziraphale's hand tightened reflexively, tugging on Crowley's hair, and the demon let out a soft moan. He sucked gently at the sensitive skin of Aziraphale's labia before moving to place a messy, open-mouth kiss right at the core, teeth grazing skin as his tongue explored and tasted.

Aziraphale struggled to speak through labored breaths and involuntary moans. What he managed to say was, “Oh, my,” a string of half-profanities, and then, “ _Crowley_.” The demon smiled at that and redoubled his efforts.

Aziraphale whimpered as his legs threatened to give out underneath him, and Crowley wrapped both hands around the backs of his thighs in a tight grip. When the demon finally applied his snake-like tongue to Aziraphale’s clit, the angel’s orgasm hit him with full force. Crowley continued to lick the angel as he came, and then looked up at him reverently as he pulled himself together enough to utter a clear, firm “Stand up.”

Crowley stood, his face flushed, and looked at Aziraphale with wide eyes. The angel tangled his fingers in Crowley’s hair once more, pulling him in for a deep, wild kiss, tasting himself on the demon’s tongue. Crowley let out a whine when Aziraphale pulled back, and the angel smiled.

“Bed,” he said breathlessly, grabbing Crowley by the shoulders and turning him toward the bed.

Gathering what he could of his wits, Crowley moved to the bed. He tried to keep his voice casual and cool when he spoke, looking up at Aziraphale. “How do you want me?”

Aziraphale thought for a long, excruciating moment. “On your hands and knees,” he said finally. Crowley obliged, his face and neck growing redder as he became more exposed. Aziraphale smiled again and maneuvered into a position behind Crowley, resting his hands gently on the demon’s waist.

Dipping low without warning, Aziraphale licked a long stripe up Crowley’s spine, causing the demon to shiver and moan. When he reached the shoulderblades, his body nearly flush against Crowley’s back, he turned his head to the side to suck a mark into the skin. Crowley shuddered again and mumbled the softest “Angel, _please_.”

“What do you want?” Aziraphale asked, his lips mere centimeters from Crowley’s ear.

“Want you to get on with it already.”

“Get on with what, exactly?”

Crowley whined in exasperation and turned his head slightly to meet the angel’s eyes. “Aziraphale,” he said desperately, “fuck me before I go completely insane.”

Aziraphale nipped at Crowley’s ear, laughing, before pulling back, sliding his hands down the demon’s back. One hand situated on Crowley’s hip, the angel took the other hand and slipped two fingers into the wet heat of his cunt. Crowley exhaled a sigh of relief, attempting to push back on the angel’s fingers to get more stimulation. Aziraphale curled his fingers, hitting a spot that made Crowley keen and arch his back.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, “enthusiastic, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Crowley replied without missing a beat, nodding his head.

Aziraphale continued to work his fingers inside the demon, his mouth slightly agape, and spoke quietly, reverently. “Love that… you’re so open, so ready… so wet,” he lowered his voice further, hardly even a breath, “for me.”

Crowley gasped as the angel buried his free hand in his hair once more, turning Crowley’s head with a gentle tug as he brought the other hand to the demon’s open mouth. Those two fingers resting heavily on his tongue, Crowley closed his lips around them and sucked, tasting himself, cleaning his juices from Aziraphale’s fingers. The angel kept his hand in Crowley’s hair and took the other hand from his mouth, trailing his fingers light as a feather down the demon’s spine.

Finally, blissfully, Aziraphale positioned the toy cock at Crowley’s entrance. The angel didn’t hesitate before sliding into him, eliciting a cry of pleasure from the demon, and soon set a steady rhythm, thrusting with power, but without speed.

Crowley made the most obscene sounds as Aziraphale fucked him, every so often pulling gently at his hair, his other hand establishing a tight grip on the demon’s hip. “How’s that feel?” the angel asked. “Tell me.”

“Ssso good,” Crowley moaned, “you fuck so good, angel, feelsss amazing.”

“Good,” Aziraphale said, and he stilled his movements, pulling back.

“Don’t stop,” Crowley said desperately.

Aziraphale grabbed the demon’s waist on both sides, turning him onto his back effortlessly, and entered him again before he could catch his breath. “I just wanted to see your face when I make you come,” he murmured.

The demon responded with a choked groan, wrapping his legs around Aziraphale, digging his heels into the flesh of the angel’s ass in an attempt to pull him deeper. Never one to let himself be rushed, the angel leaned in to kiss him, his tongue tracing Crowley’s lips and licking into his mouth like it was the only thing keeping him alive. He began to move again, slower this time, hitting that sensitive spot with every thrust.

“Angel,” Crowley panted as soon as Aziraphale pulled away from the kiss, “ _harder_.”

Aziraphale nodded, quickening his movements, pounding into Crowley with rough, deep force until the demon shuddered through an orgasm, burying his face in Aziraphale’s neck. Crowley gripped Aziraphale tight, dragging short, blunt fingernails down his back as he dug his teeth into the angel’s shoulder. Aziraphale groaned, relishing the dull pain, and slowed again.

Each time the toy cock dragged against the inside of him, slow and intense, Crowley forgot how to breathe. Aziraphale began to vary his thrusts, one fast and hard, two slow, catching Crowley off guard with new sensations every other second. When Crowley reached the crest of his second orgasm, crying out breathlessly, the angel didn’t stop.

Insinuating a hand between them, Crowley reached past the point where their bodies met, under the place where the toy was fucking into him, and thumbed at Aziraphale’s clit. It was enough for the angel to stop moving completely and it didn’t take long before he came for the second time, moaning as Crowley rubbed him through the aftershock.

Aziraphale pulled out and collapsed half on top of Crowley with a sigh. He tugged half-heartedly at the straps around his thighs and waist, not in any state to figure out something so complicated as that. Crowley couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle, then he blinked and the straps undid themselves so Aziraphale could set the toy aside and settle comfortably into the bed. The angel placed one hand firmly on Crowley’s chest and leaned up to meet him in a lazy, languid kiss.

Crowley hummed pleasantly into the kiss, wrapping an arm around Aziraphale to pull him closer, lifting his other hand to cup the angel’s cheek. When he came up for air, Aziraphale hovered with his face an inch from Crowley’s, looking into his eyes. Crowley averted his gaze, uncomfortable with the intensity of the scrutiny, and took his hand from the angel’s face to run his fingers through his own hair.

Aziraphale curled into Crowley’s side, resting his head on the demon’s chest, and closed his eyes. After a few moments, he smiled against Crowley’s skin. “You bit me,” he said quietly, not a hint of upset in his tone.

“I did,” Crowley said vaguely, “sorry.”

“S’okay, no need to apologize.”

Crowley closed his eyes and felt his head swimming, his blood thumping, the effects of the alcohol still going strong. “M’gonna be so hungover,” he laughed.

The angel nodded, his curls tickling Crowley’s chin, and said something, his voice already quiet and further muffled by the demon’s chest. Crowley thought to himself, but never would have said aloud, that it almost sounded like “I’ll take care of you.”

“M’tired,” the demon mumbled. He was having trouble keeping his thoughts straight, clearly. “You don’t have to…hmm,” he trailed off with a relaxed hum, drifting into sleep in the middle of his sentence.

* * *

 

When Crowley awoke, he became aware of several things simultaneously: the thin beam of sunlight streaming into the room, the soreness in all of his muscles, his dry mouth, and Aziraphale. _Aziraphale_ , who was still there, still wrapped around him, still naked and, most shockingly, _asleep_. Crowley had been sure, deep in whatever part of his mind was present enough to be thinking about it, that Aziraphale would have snuck off in the middle of the night, or as soon as he fell asleep. Yet here he was.

Crowley shifted, trying to maneuver himself out from under Aziraphale, and was soon reminded that despite the angel’s ethereal origins, his body was very much solid, and quite heavy to boot. Finding that it was impossible to move with Aziraphale attached to him, and additionally finding that his arm, stuck under the angel, was numb, Crowley nudged Aziraphale’s shoulder with his free hand.

“Angel,” he whispered, “wake up.” He gave Aziraphale a gentle shake before adding, “Please.”

Aziraphale groaned and rolled over, opening his eyes slowly. Crowley stretched out his arm as soon as it was free, and watched as Aziraphale’s face went from disoriented to pleased to horrified to embarrassed in the span of three seconds. All of the angel’s steadfast confidence of the night before had fled his system with the vodka.

“My dear boy, I’m, er.” He took a deep breath and exhaled on a huff. “Will you close your eyes?”

Crowley closed his eyes, unquestioning. He felt the bed shift, heard the rustling of feet on carpet and then fabric on skin. Aziraphale was getting dressed, and Crowley sat in silence, not looking at him. He had no problem respecting the angel’s privacy, though he thought dryly to himself that it was sort of moot, considering he had been the one who removed Aziraphale’s clothes in the first place. He felt the angel’s weight settle on the bed once more.

“Okay, you can open them now,” Aziraphale mumbled.

Crowley looked up at the disheveled angel, his clothes wrinkled, his mouth tinted purple from Crowley’s lipstick. He had fastened the buttons on his shirt all the way up to the top and was in the process of doing up his tie.

“Aziraphale, you don’t have to —” Crowley didn’t know what he was going to say, which made the angel’s interruption a blessing of sorts.

“No, I do,” Aziraphale said firmly. “I… I feel I must apologize for my behavior.”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up and his jaw dropped. “You _what_?”

The angel swallowed nervously, fidgeting with his hands. “I was out of line last night, and I have no excuses. I’m very sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Well, you know… all of it.”

Crowley pulled himself together, narrowed his eyes, and spoke in a low, intense voice. “You have _nothing_ to be sorry for, angel,” he said, shaking his head. “Feel how you feel, but don’t put it on me. _I_ don’t need you to apologize.”

“Okay,” Aziraphale muttered, looking away, his face reddening. “I’m — I have to go.”

“You don’t,” Crowley said quickly, nearly jumping out of the bed. He manifested an outfit on his body with a thought before standing, figuring it was best not to embarrass Aziraphale further by his immodesty. “You don’t have to go,” he repeated.

“I really should,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley looked around the room, near-frantic in his endeavor to find something to make the angel stay. “Are you sure? I could… wash your clothes for you. Buy you breakfast. Make you breakfast?”

Aziraphale shook his head and turned to leave the room, with Crowley following him. “No, dear boy, I’m afraid I must get going, very sorry,” he said, in the affected tone he used for prospective customers of the bookshop.

“Stop apologizing,” Crowley snapped. Then, softer: “Can I walk you home, at least?”

“That’s very kind, but I think… I need to be alone.”

Crowley pursed his lips and nodded as they reached the door. “Okay,” he said gently. “Just — be careful, alright?” He couldn’t remember ever having said that to Aziraphale before. He had no reason to; the angel was capable and rational, most of the time. Right now, however, Crowley felt it was important, firstly, that Aziraphale got home safely in spite of his distracted state, and secondly, that he knew how much Crowley _needed_ him to get home safely.

“Of course,” Aziraphale murmured as he turned away. He opened the door, stepped outside the flat, and reached back to close the door behind him, until he felt Crowley’s hand covering his on the doorknob. He spun around to face the demon again, perplexed.

Crowley took a deep breath. “I just wanted to say thank you,” he said, genuinely, earnestly, “for coming out with me last night.” He looked into the angel’s eyes, his gaze burning full of meaning. “I had a lot of fun.”

“You’re welcome. Er.” Aziraphale furrowed his brow and chewed on his lip. “Me too.”

Crowley’s fingers twitched and flexed, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand involuntarily. “Will you call me?”

The angel smiled, a small token of reassurance, and nodded his head.

Returning the smile, Crowley released his hand, and Aziraphale gave him one more nod before closing the door. Crowley stood perfectly still for a long minute, staring at the place where the angel had just been, before he remembered how to breathe and move. He laughed at himself, at the whole situation, and went to take a shower, stopping first to grab his phone from the pocket of the jeans he’d been wearing last night.

 _Best to keep it close_ , he thought, _just in case_.


End file.
